Beyond Notes
by WallofIllusion
Summary: More Death Note shorts from me, this time all based on the novel. Will contain heavy spoilers for the entire novel, so don't read this if you haven't read the novel.
1. Boyhood

So... as it says. The Wammy's House Union has a set of ten challenges for B too, so here are some of mine. The list:

01.barrier（障壁、越え難い壁）  
02.being（存在、存在すること）  
03.bale（災い、破滅、苦痛、悲惨、悲しみ）  
**04.backup****（予備の、代替の）**  
05.belief（信じること、信念、確信）  
**06.blaze****（炎、火炎）**  
**07.blind****（目くらまし）**  
08.bloody（血なまぐさい、残酷な）  
**09.boyhood****（少年時代）**  
10.break（壊す、壊れる)

Bolded are, of course, the one's I've written so far.

* * *

**Boyhood**

The car was stopped at a red light.

The boy in the backseat pressed his face to the window as he watched the driver of the small car to their left. The driver was young, about twenty perhaps, and there was something unusual about the numbers above her head.

Or rather, the _number_. There was only one, and it was falling fast.

The boy was interested. Though he was long since used to seeing the numbers and names above people's heads, he'd never seen what happened when the numbers ran out before. He was silently hoping the light would stay red just a little longer—just until the number made it all the way down to—

And then too many things happened at once. The light changed, and both cars started forward, but almost immediately there was a huge jolt. It took the boy—and everyone else, really, a few seconds to realize what had happened.

A semi had driven through the red light, crashing straight into the woman's car and pushing it into the boy's. Luckily, the woman's car had absorbed most of the force and none of the boy's family was hurt.

Well—that was only lucky for them.

When the police arrived, it took them only a few minutes to pull the woman out of her car. Shaking, the boy tried to catch a glimpse of her face as they did so. He already suspected—but that couldn't, it couldn't be that—

The number above her head was gone.

Her name was as gone well.

She was pronounced dead at the moment of impact.

Terrified tears sprung to the boy's eyes, and in a few seconds he found himself sobbing like a baby. Immediately his parents ran to him and scooped him up in a tight hug.

"It's all right, sweetie," his mother murmured, caressing his hair. "It's fine. Mommy and Daddy are fine. You're fine. Shh…"

She had four numbers left.

The boy shook his head, clinging to her desperately. No. No, no, that wasn't going to happen, that couldn't happen to his mother… No…

"C'mon, Beyond," his father added. "You're six years old now. Be a big boy. No more crying, okay?"

Two numbers.

His father only had two numbers left.

Almost choking with the strength of his sobs, the boy threw himself around his father's neck and resolved never to let go, never. _No… no…_

His father gave a light sigh. "…Why don't we go get some ice cream?" he offered. "Maybe that'll cheer you up a bit."

* * *

Two things. One: Beyond is such an odd name.

Two: I do not profess to know how the numbers of one's lifespan work. I heard a theory once that they indicate the number of hours a person has left to live, but as that theory gives Light some 4,145 years of life, I disregarded that theory. La.


	2. Backup

**Backup**

A had never been one to socialize with the other children.

B didn't care particularly, but if he had been forced to guess, he would have said that the reason was twofold: first, A had a considerable superiority complex. He considered himself much better than the other children; _he_, after all, was the top candidate to replace L if necessary. _He _was the one who got special lessons with L. The other children were beneath his notice.

Second, he was simply too busy. When he wasn't over-achieving in class work or taking his special lessons, he was studying some obscure subject, probably assigned by L, of which the others had never heard. He didn't have _time_ to socialize. In fact, as B whispered to himself in the darkness after lights-out, A didn't have much time left for anything. A, of course, didn't realize this; or at least B assumed he didn't, until four hours and nineteen minutes before A's death.

At that exact time, something unusual happened: A came over to him at breakfast, stared at him for a few seconds, and then spoke.

"B, do you like it here?"

B stared into A's face for a moment before answering. "Yes, I do."

A looked… exhausted. He had huge, unappealing bags under his dark eyes and a sagging look to his entire face. There was no light in his eyes at all. When he spoke, it was with a heavy inflection. "You seem like a hard worker… I've been watching you recently."

That was interesting. He had been doing it very carefully, then, because at the same time B had been watching him for some sign of what was coming, and he'd noticed nothing.

Also, it suggested the answer that he'd been trying to find. B stared at A uncertainly—and when the older student sighed and spoke again, B's guess was confirmed.

"Can't say I envy you for what you're going to go through," A muttered, as if to himself, and every piece settled into place in B's mind. So—so that was what would happen. As A turned and walked away to eat breakfast alone, B lifted his wrist to fiddle with his watch.

The alarm on the watch went off four hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-one seconds later, in the middle of class. Everyone jumped and looked at B, who apologized and turned it off.

A hadn't shown up to class. No surprise there. Staring listlessly at his watch, B wondered how he had done it.

The House was in a panicked uproar for the next few days. A, their top student, their top candidate to replace L, had hanged himself in his room. He'd left no note, probably assuming that the only person who mattered, L, would understand anyway.

B was the only one who remained calm, though he was careful to act horrified when necessary. It was, however, no surprise to him. He'd watched A's lifespan fall lower and lower for months, not without fascination, not without a touch of eagerness.

The top candidate was gone—killed himself from the pressure. It was time for the backup to take over.


	3. Blind

**Blind**

B felt nothing when his cellmate collapsed of a heart attack in the first week of Kira's mysterious murders. He assumed—he thought he _knew_ that the seizure wouldn't be lethal. But either there was some sort of conspiracy—a worldwide one, judging by the news reports—or something was very wrong, because a few seconds after his cellmate collapsed, the name and the four numbers left above his head suddenly disappeared. He really _did_ die. And it was the same for criminals all over the world. These people with months and years left to live were dropping dead of heart attacks at an alarming rate.

To B, it was disturbingly akin to suddenly going blind.

He looked at people less now, because seeing the numbers over their heads—the now meaningless numbers—distressed him. He could figure out nothing from them now, and the ability that had plagued him all his life was worth nothing. It was frustrating and confusing, and B didn't like it.

It worried him.

On January twenty-first, 2004, Beyond Birthday's heart gave a painful wrench and stopped beating.

B couldn't breathe. He gagged—tried to cough—fell to the ground.

_No! It can't end like this—anything but this…_

He was desperate to start breathing again, to keep living, but the room was going dark around him.

It wasn't fair. He couldn't figure out anything from this. He couldn't guarantee that this was his lifespan, that this was truly the end of the numbers he'd never been able to see.

He tried to calculate what this was anyway—_5, 7, then a 9 and 4, 3_—but couldn't even finish that in time.

Beyond Birthday died blind.


	4. Blaze

**Blaze**

While channel-surfing, Beyond Birthday happened to stop on a news program—a live report of a local building fire.

"Firefighters are now working to control the blaze, which is thought to have been caused by a short circuit within the walls of this residential home," the reporter, Carol Peters, was saying. "Most of the family escaped unharmed, but the fire department is about to send in a special squad to rescue nine-year-old Emily Turner, who is trapped inside."

A photograph of a young girl with brown, curly hair appeared on the screen, and Beyond looked into the girl's green eyes. "Emily Turner, huh?" he muttered, his eyes darting around the room but always coming back to the photo on the screen. "Emily Turner…"

He would have to take Peters' word for it, because the girl was already dead.

Peters reappeared on the screen, accompanied by a young, clean-shaven man. "And here we have Joseph Welles, one of the firefighters who is going in to rescue Emily. What do you have to say about the situation, Mr. Welles?"

"It should be a fairly simple rescue," the firefighter said. "The fire doesn't seem to be anywhere near her bedroom—she's probably just hiding somewhere, scared…"

"Don't go in there," Beyond warned the screen as the firefighter spoke. "Don't go, don't go. You'll be killed."

Joseph Welles had less than ten minutes of life left. There was no doubt that he would die in the blaze.

"It's pointless. She's already dead!" Beyond said, his voice rising in agitation. His fingers, gripping his knees as usual, began to tap the rhythm of a frantic, unknown song. "What if I were there? What if I could tell you, what if you would believe me, Joseph Welles? How would you die then? A random falling timber? Suddenly collapsing, unseen, into the flames? Would that be kinder or would it be crueler? Kinder or crueler. Kinder or crueler. Teh heh heh heh heh."

It was not the time for laughing, and the look on Beyond's face certainly did not match the sounds crackling out of his mouth. His expression was a pained tribute to futility—the futility of rescue squads, of heroism, of human life.

"Teh heh, heh heh, heh heh."

He laughed because he didn't know what else to do, and he laughed because wasn't this ironic, in its own way? Ironic enough to laugh about. Teh heh heh.

…But it wasn't, really.

In a single motion, Beyond shut the television off and buried his head in his knees. Eyes wide open, he imagined Joseph Welles' face and counted down to the brave, doomed man's death; then he let the flames rise and rise within his mind until all the memories of Joseph Welles and Emily Turner were destroyed in the blaze.


End file.
